Still half asleep,
I turn the key
And venture out
Into the frost.

The moon rides low
Across the sky
And overhead
The plough still hangs.

Orion’s dog
His master leads,
The hunter’s pouch
Brimful of stars.

Still wrapped in night
And sleepy eyed,
Reluctantly
I start my day.

January 1992 (Poetic licence! Orion and Canis Major are not visible at the same time in January when we are getting up – they have both set by then.)